Essence of Your Life
by allara serasai
Summary: [Discontinued] How can you regret the essence of your life? SLASH
1. Prologue

WARNING: Slash. Means guy/guy, homosexual, whatever you want to call it, relationship. If you don't like it, don't read it.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Sigh.  
  
Summary: Eh, just another draco/harry fic, 'spose. Kind of angsty.  
  
A/N: Well, my first time writing something like this, if you don't like it, whatever. If you do like, it would be nice if you would let me know. Accepting all review, including flames. I think that's about it. Eh, if I remember something, I'll let you know about it.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your Life  
  
Prologue  
  
When it began, I didn't expect anything.  
  
When it began, I didn't want anything.  
  
When it began, I didn't need anything.  
  
Or so I thought.  
  
It was never supposed to start this way. But then again, it was never supposed to start. Who would have expected the bloody Boy-Who-Lived to ever want anything to do with the Slytherin's precious Prince?  
  
But he did.  
  
My friends (yes, they were friends and I will treasure them forever) all told me I was insane, and I agreed with them. We were opposites; he was the adorable, innocent, savior of the world who could do no one wrong and I was the disgusting, despicable epitome of evil, the one who can do nothing but wrong.  
  
When he came to me, I thought my soul would fly free from the cage of my body, I was so happy. The impossible was happening; he was with me, and everything was right.  
  
When he left, it was all I could do to keep from crying out, to let him know of the incredible agony he had left me in, that he had given me. I had always thought that the expression, "a broken heart", was so cliché, but it really isn't. My heart really did feel broken in two.  
  
But he didn't care.  
  
He didn't care, because I wasn't supposed to feel; I was a Malfoy.  
  
When I stay up nights crying, I try to remember I'm a Malfoy, that I'm stronger than this, that I'll survive. When I start screaming from the nightmare I'll never wake up from, I try to get back to reality, but I don't want to because if I go back there, to the real world, I know I'll die. When I'm so tortured I start cutting myself to stay alive, I wonder if I ever should have spoken to him that day.  
  
But whenever I start thinking that, I remember all the sweet memories, all the times he lay beneath me, the sparkle in his green eyes when he smiled, and I know I can never regret it.  
  
I will always remember Harry and everything about him, and I know I can never regret it.  
  
For how can you regret the very essence of your life? 


	2. Just Sitting There

Warning: Slash, means guy/guy or homosexual, whatever you want to call it, relationship(s). If you don't like it, don't read it.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them (though I wouldn't mind owning Draco ^_~)  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your Life: Chapter 1: Just sitting there  
  
He's just sitting there. He's not doing anything; he's not taking notes, he's not paying attention, he's not listening to the teacher, he's not doing anything. He's just sitting there, doing nothing.  
  
Then again, I supposed I'm doing the same thing. I'm not doing anything; I'm not taking notes, I'm not paying attention, I'm not listening the teacher, I'm not doing anything. I'm just sitting here, but I'm not doing nothing.  
  
I'm watching him.  
  
I don't even know why.  
  
I know he's fascinating. I know he's interesting. I know I want to get inside his mind and find what makes him tick. I know he mystifies me like nothing else has. I know that he has this aura that just makes my eyes leap to him. I know that he hasn't been that same ever since Fifth year. I know that his eyes used to be the most sparkling clear green. I know that whenever he smiles now, it looks like he's dead. I know that he's holding my attention more than it should, and not in a good way.  
  
Why is it that I'm so much more interested in him than I should be for a Death Eater's son? Why is it that I take notice when he his head turns my way? Why is it that the world seems so much clearer yet so much more confusing when I hear is now-rare laugh? Why is it that-  
  
Snap  
  
"Mr. Potter! Please explain what you were doing in the other dimension inside your head." Ugh, McGonagall. When will that bitch learn to leave sleeping dogs lie?  
  
"And why should I answer you?" Well, well, well. Who would have thought Harry Potter would speak back to a teacher?  
  
I would  
  
Odd, I shouldn't be thinking that  
  
But I am  
  
This is a day for surprises. First the Savior of the World speaks back to the Deputy Headmistress, then I find myself thinking that it is the most natural thing in the world.  
  
That's because it is  
  
After all, almost everyone expects him to save the world, to keep the big, nasty Voldemort far away from them. Who wouldn't break under the pressure?  
  
"Mr. Potter, apologize for your rudeness or you're getting a detention tonight!" And McGonagall still hasn't learned her lesson. Even Neville can tell she'll get burned if she keeps on playing with fire, the way she keeps trying to get Potter to say he's sorry.  
  
"If I get a detention, I might get upset. I'm already insane, right? If I'm upset and insane, who knows what will happen?" His hollow laughter fills my air and I know I'm not supposed to be scared, but there's a chill in the room that won't go away, no matter how close I draw my cloak.  
  
"Is that a threat?" Any normal person would be running with their tail in between their legs if they were being looked at with the eyes McGonagall is wearing right now. But Harry isn't normal. He's not even close.  
  
"I don't know; is it? I'm insane. How should I be able to tell? Besides, aren't I the "Golden Boy-who-Lived"?! I'm not supposed to make threats. I'm not supposed to do anything but-" He abruptly cuts off his sentence. His bodyguards just sit there with contorted expression on their faces. The Mudblood's face is stuck between an expression of horror and shame. The Weasel's face is merely frozen in a state of shock. They're surprised.  
  
They shouldn't be  
  
I know. They are supposed to be Potter's friends. They are supposed to see that what Potter needs right now is people who will be there for him yet won't question what he asks. They are supposed to see that what Potter needs right now is-  
  
You  
  
-someone who won't expect anything. Not me. I expect everything. If I was the one he needed, then I would be railing against him of everything he is supposed to be doing.  
  
Ironically, "supposed to" is the most hated phrase in the English language. It speaks of everything you ought to be and everything you turn out being the opposite of. I hate it, but I use it. I can't get out of it, I can't help it, I can't help myself, I-  
  
Ring  
  
"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems the expression "saved by the bell" really does happen. Make sure this never happens again and I shall be lenient*"  
  
He snorts. What else would he do. He knows she can't really do anything to him, and he scorns her for it. What else would he do.  
  
What else would you think you mean  
  
There's nothing else he can do. He delivered his challenge when he started talking back. I know why, but I have to know for sure.  
  
"Hey, Potter." For once, my voice does not hold the icy disdain it used to.  
  
"What, Ferret? Come to torment me again? You think I care?" No, my voice no longer holds the chill of winter, but his does.  
  
"Why did you talk back?" I'm curious on how the Weasel and Mudblood will react to the fact that I'm speaking civilly and Potter isn't"  
  
"They day I come running to you for comfort is the day I tell you my reasons for doing things." Then he just stalks off with his bodyguards trying to catch up to him on his way to lunch.  
  
And I'm left in the hallway, surrounded by the swarming masses.  
  
I sink down to the floor, frozen.  
  
And I'm just sitting there.  
  
A/N: * line isn't entirely my own, I kind of took the words from the movie Ever After. It's a cinderella story taking place in france staring Drew Barrymore. Pretty good movie. 


	3. Sick

WARNING: Slash, means homosexual or guy/guy, whatever you want to call it, relationships. If you don't like it, don't read it. And for those of you who might think this warning is overkill, if I get a single flame from people who don't believe in gay relationships, I will laugh in your face.  
  
Disclaimer: If only I could own Harry and Draco. *drool*. No, of course I'm not thinking of unspeakable things they would do to me.  
  
A/N: I'm updating this because one of my friends literally said she would hurt me if I didn't update soon, so here you go. Shout out to her, she's sharing a penname w/ another friend on harrypotterfanfiction.com, Kami. Kind of have writer's block w/ this story, though, so if anyone want to help me out, IM or summat. I have AIM, find the sn on my profile.  
  
A/N 2: I'm going to do italics surrounded by ~, b/c I can't figure out how to do it and have it appear once uploaded. For example, ~blah~ is "blah" italicized  
  
A/N 3: I'm not really sure about the rating, I think it's somewhere between PG-13 and R, but I'm not really too sure, so if it gets too bad, I may change the rating.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your Life: Chapter 2: Sick  
  
Every time I think Harry Potter cannot send me yet another curveball, he does. He has transformed from the young and foolish nasty git who spurned my friendship five years ago, to a mature young man who tries his very best and is yet so sick of it, all of it.  
  
Sick of everyone expecting perfection, sick of everyone hoping believing he's going to save the world, sick of everyone saying he didn't do something when he did and he can't take it back and it will never be erased and it's forever.  
  
He's sick of forever.  
  
I can see it in his eyes  
  
The way his eyes are so empty, even when he's flying, the former love of his life.  
  
The way his hands are so pale even though he's outside in the sun for at least six hours a day  
  
The way his hair now lies lifeless and dull, when it used to spring up almost as high as his spirits were.  
  
The way his-  
  
"Malfoy, payin' attention there? Don' want ter hurt yerself again like yeh did third year, do yeh?"  
  
They should put that rabid beast they call a teacher to sleep already, like they put-  
  
No. I mustn't think of it.  
  
Who knows who's listening to my thoughts right now.  
  
But I wonder if Potter knows . . .  
  
What the hell, it's a crazy week.  
  
"Hey, Potter!"  
  
"I flipped off McGonagall, what makes you think I'll be paying any attention to you this year, Malfoy?"  
  
Damn, he has grown some spine at last. Perhaps now he is worthy of-  
  
"Are yeh payin' attention or not? This time, if yeh're arm gets ripped off, theh whole class is here to see that it's yeh're own fault." Hmph. Why is everyone growing a spine all of a sudden?  
  
"Now, today, we're learnin' abou' wyverns. Now who knows what theh are?"  
  
Mudblood's hand shoots up. Surprise surprise.  
  
"Granger, when will you stop sucking up to every teacher in the school and act like someone normal for once? Oh wait, you don't suck up to teachers, you just suck them."  
  
Her eyes fill with tears and I am feeling bored  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ever since Weasel started going out with Mudblood, he's been trying to defend her.  
  
"This is surely an ironic situation. You would think that anyone in Granger's company would actually begin to use semi-intelligent sentences, what with her spouting off facts like an encyclopedia every other second. Instead, your brain seems to have shrunk. Or is it just your balls?" You would think that after five years, Weasel would have learned some decent insults by now. Disgusting, really.  
  
"Malfoy, get yer mind outta theh gutter an'-"  
  
"Ferret, if you're still stuck on sexual innuendos as insults, you're the one who's balls are shrinking." Odd. Potter used to get offensive and steamed up when I started insulting his bodyguards. Now he doesn't even bother with standing up. He's still sitting there, sprawled on the ground. "That and the fact that you seem to have an odd fixation on Ron and Hermione's relationship. After all, why else are you commenting on what they do behind closed doors rather than other facets of their personality?"  
  
"Pothead, they have no other personality to comment on." I rather doubt Potter will snap at that, Weasel is the only one who actually might try to attack me physically. And even if Potter does something, he can't touch me.  
  
~But you want him to~  
  
Because I'm frozen in myself and I can't get out. I feel nothing and it makes me sick. When I was a child, not yet jaded by my father, I never reached out to my mother and giggled, I never ran around in the sun and smiled at the joy of life.  
  
When I was a child, I just sat there, waiting for my caretaker to pick me up and feed me. I just waited outside in the shade so I wouldn't get sunburn despite the fact that my caretaker could cure it in a heartbeat if I got it.  
  
I don't feel, and I'm sick of it.  
  
The only time I feel is when I face off with Potter. He's the only one who insults me back intelligently.  
  
It's the only time I feel.  
  
"Malfoy, you know Hermione's muggle-born. Your nickname for her is "Mudblood". And there you go, another facet to her." Holy shit, Harry Potter, the Glorious Boy-Who-Lived actually used the "m" word. (I'm being sarcastic, fuckwit).  
  
"Harry! Detention! Yeh aren' supposed ter use theh M-word in fron' o' Hermione!" Will wonders never cease. First McGonagall lets Potter off, now the Beast is cracking down on Wonder Boy.  
  
"Yeh too, Malfoy. Yeh're the one tha' started it." Annoying little gnat. I supposed it will set me back an hour or so before I get out of it. Pfuit, I can get out of it like that *snaps*. But I won't. I won't give them another opportunity to try and belittle me. I will show them the obviousness of my superiority and I will triumph.  
  
So then why do I feel so sick? 


	4. Sweep

Warning: Slash, means guy/guy or homosexual, whatever you want to call it, relationships. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's just common sense.  
  
Disclaimer: Oh come on. It's fanfiction, like it's really mine. C'mon people, get the drill already!  
  
A/N: J, I can't believe you would stoop so low as to start blackmailing me to write chapters! (Even though it's working). Oh, and the whole "J" thing? You're turning into G! And did you steal his penname to review again? Shame on you. I thought G took Spanish. For people who have no clue what I'm talking about, you don't want to know. And it's "Shiseidox", I'll thank you to remember my penname. (Oh come on, like it's my real name. Like any parent would be cruel enough to name their kid "Shiseidox")  
  
A/N 2: Just to remind you, I'm using ~ as italics, for example, ~blah~ means "blah" only italicized.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your life: Chapter 3: Sweep  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, a word please." Snape. What does ~he~ want. No matter what he does, I will never swing that way.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, before you get old and ugly." Look who's talking. But I follow him into his office anyways.  
  
"Draco, your detention is scheduled for tonight, half an hour after dinner. Unfortunately, it is with Potter. I must say, I am disappointed. You are going to be Head Boy. ~Don't~ mess it up. Don't throw it all away for silly spats you know you can't win." After giving me a little speech he hopes thinks will intimidate me, he tries to sweep out of the room with his trademark billowing of robes, but I grab a hold of his arm before he leaves.  
  
"If you think that something like becoming Head Boy is everything to me, you're becoming too much like a teacher and too little like a Death Eater." I flash him my trademark smirk and sweep out of the room in his stead.  
  
Once out of the room, I merely re-acquire my mask of ice and go to lunch.  
  
~Where he'll be waiting~  
  
Where everyone is waiting  
  
Waiting for food to appear on their plates, waiting for the next class, waiting for the period to be over, whether they be anxious or completely at peace with themselves.  
  
Except for him  
  
He isn't waiting  
  
He's doing something  
  
He won't just sit there, looking at his food, pushing it around so it looks like it's been eaten. He won't just stare off into emtpy space, paying no attention at all to the surrounding conversations.  
  
He will be inside his head, inside his "happy place" where nothing is expect of him, where nothing is needed of him, where he is nobody.  
  
It's like he wishes he could sweep all evidence of his existence out of reality.  
  
He pays no attention to anything except eradicating his soul from what we call this world.  
  
And yet he isn't self-centered  
  
If he isn't snapping back at everyone, if he is for the shortest second, at peace with himself, you see the gentlest look in his eyes, like the world is made of glass and he's scared of breaking it.  
  
But then his mask sweeps everything out of the way, and his eyes grow bitter and cold, his hands clench in anger hopelessly trying to express itself, his mouth curled once again into the sneer that is mine.  
  
He's trying to get rid of his humanity so that when the final battle comes, he will be hard as stone.  
  
But stone shatters  
  
Will he?  
  
~You cannot let him~  
  
I know. Because if Voldemort wins, he will continue killing; he will not stop at only Muggles and Mudbloods. He will keep on massacring the masses until everyone is dead.  
  
He has already killed my mother  
  
The sad thing is, I don't even care  
  
She was soft and did not allow "my father" to truly continue in his work.  
  
So he merely silenced her  
  
And I was watching  
  
Funny how much blood can come from one person.  
  
"Malfoy. Ever watch where you're going?" It's interesting at how one can become so lost in their thoughts that they no longer pay attention their physical body is in. Unknowingly, I have been walking over to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.  
  
"One would think your balls are your brain."  
  
"Now who is the one speaking with sexual innuendos? Rhetorical question, Weasel. And if you don't know what a rhetorical question is, you should get your tongue out of Mudblood's mouth and let her tell you."  
  
"If you want to eat here, you know you'll have to be polite. Or else everyone here will jump you."  
  
I raise my eyebrow  
  
"I never knew you swung that way."  
  
"Neither did I."  
  
Whenever he retorts like that, like he's baring his soul to me, he leaves me speechless. It's as if his words are sweeping all of mine out of my head.  
  
"Good, you're both here." Flitwick. I swear his squeaking will one day drive me insane and I will hex him to oblivion. "Both of your detentions will take place half an hour after dinner. You will meet McGonagall in her classroom, and yes, the detention will take place together."  
  
"Very well." Potter is taking this a lot more calmly than I thought he would. Weasel on the other hand. . .  
  
"Harry! How can you just say "very well" to a f*cking detention with Malfoy?! Have you lost your bloody mind?! He's the f*cking ferret!" He can always be counted on to come up with the most pathetic insults and to jump in precisely when he is not needed.  
  
So I simply leave  
  
"I think you hurt his feelings" Mudblood's pitying whispers. I almost turn back and curse her until Weasel decides to step in, but I don't.  
  
"Hermione, you may be smart by the book, but you know nothing of one's personality and characteristics." Surprising that Potter decides to step in for me and I almost halt my step, but I don't.  
  
I just leave. 


	5. What Must Be Said

WARNING: Slash, means homosexual, or guy/guy relationships. If you don't like it, don't read it.  
  
Disclaimer: if only I could own the sizzling Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy *drools and promptly short-circuits the keyboard, beats out flames, and continues typing*  
  
A/N: Seriously, REVIEW. I guess I will continue this story, but I have such an incredibly horrible case of writer's block that you should not expect regular chapters. It is your responsibility as readers to review SO REVIEW ALREADY!!!!!! (For those of you who are actually reviewing, thank you very much)  
  
A/N 2: Just to let you know, i think Harry might turn out to be a little out of character in this fic. He's just turning out that way. I'll keep him in character as much as possible, but I can't guarantee it. And this fic is going to be going very slowly.  
  
A/N 3: I'm going to do italics with * now just cuz I feel like it.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your Life: Chapter 4: What must be said  
  
I make my way to McGonagall's classroom for detention and I arrive several minute early, so I sit back and relax, one of the few times I can let my guard down.  
  
Surprisingly,-  
  
*Unsurprisingly, you mean*  
  
-Potter is late. Well well well, the old fool's Golden Boy has yet another fault on his record. But it's really not that unexpected. Day by day, you see his spiral into darkness, when he is plummeting to the dark chasms of his soul. You see the degradation of his innocence in his face, and it is heart-wrenching.  
  
Now if only I had a heart.  
  
It's long been torn, trampled, ripped, destroyed. The fact that my father is a Death Eater indeed has indeed had an effect on me. I no longer have a heart, a conscience, a superego, any part of humanity, within me anymore. I know I am fortunate: I have seen the effect feelings have on others, and I know that I do not want that fate. But when I'm so cold, I wonder if I'm missing out on something, if there's something more to this life than simple calculations and moving matter with mind.  
  
I wonder if I'm supposed to feel so empty.  
  
"Of all people, I thought you would know not to have your back at an open door." The Golden Boy, late half an hour, saunters in, with a smirk on his face to rival the trademark smirk gracing my face.  
  
"You're late." It's odd. With that smirk on his face, the only thing I can do is merely state the obvious.  
  
He keeps on smirking and says nothing. That smirk makes me want to just stand up and do *something* to him to stop that blasted smirk.  
  
The thing I use to drive girls insane by the multitude is now being used by my archenemy to purposely.  
  
I know I ought to do something, so I just do what all those girls did when I smirked at them: I kiss him  
  
I don't know why except for the fact that I just have to stop that damn smirk. Nothing I say will stop it, no one I tell will stop it, nothing he hears will stop it, and nothing I do will stop it.  
  
Almost.  
  
When I pull back, horrified at myself but unwilling to show it, nothing has changed.  
  
Except for his eyes.  
  
He's still smirking, but his eyes that used to be cold and impassive are now bright and sharp with pain of an unspeakable intensity. You see that his soul is lost and he's begging for a savior to come and help him.  
  
*He's begging for you to save him*  
  
He wants to somehow get rid of everyone's expectations and yet still stay true to the person that is himself. It is impossible. The image that is now "Harry Potter" is seen the savior of the world and nothing else. He is made up of everyone's expectations  
  
*f you were with him it would be possible*  
  
To rebuild himself into someone not weighed down by everyone else in the world expecting miracles from him, into someone who sees joy in the very light of day.  
  
I can't help him there. I see joy only when others cry in misery, when others scream from pain, when others beg for death as a merciful end.  
  
How am I supposed to help him when I can't even tell him what must be said?  
  
There are so many things left unspoken, that must be said, but can't be.  
  
Suddenly I feel the incredible need to tell this ebony-haired god standing in front of me everything that is warring inside my soul.  
  
Apparently he feels the same way  
  
"Listen, Malfoy, I know you probably won't understand, but I have to tell you something, maybe because you're the only person that stands a chance of understanding."  
  
*You probably will understand*  
  
Because I go through what he goes through. Perhaps not as intense, but I know what it feels like to have expectations weighing down on you, threatening to pull you down into the dark depths of your mind, with the barest sliver of hope to hold onto, keeping you that barest distance away from insanity and death.  
  
"Whenever people talk to me nowadays, they all say that I need to save the world, to save them from Voldemort. They say that that's the reason I was put on this earth, to save the entire wizarding population from the "evil tyrant". I'm sick of it." His jade eyes are glinting with emotions too raw and intense to be expressed.  
  
"They say that they care for me, that they're concerned for me. They say that they want me to be careful, that they know what should be done and that I don't. I know they're lying. I know they just want to make sure I'm all healthy and in perfect physical condition for when I finally face off Voldemort. They just care about whether or not I'll be able to defeat Voldemort. They only care that I kill him and save everyone else. They don't care about me as myself. They only care about the multitudes, that are sleeping ignorant in their houses, unaware and disbelieving of the dangers that await. I know they're there. I know what can happen if I just step out of my bed. They don't know, they have no idea of what it feels like." His eyes, those intense, sparkling, bitter, malachite eyes are tearing into me, seeking understanding, seeking some sort of salvation, seeking absolution, seeking something.  
  
I don't know if I can give it to him  
  
*You can*  
  
*You've always been able to*  
  
"Potter, I don't know if I should be the one telling you this, but Weasel and Mudblood might actually really care about you. They've known about your burden for a long time, and they may actually be your friends." Why am I the one to give him consolation? Why am I telling him the things he needs to hear?  
  
"I know what it feels like to have expectations poured on you, to feel like you have to be perfect unless you want to be crushed to oblivion. I know what it feels like, and I understand, but I don't think I can help you. I am evil, and I don't regret any of the things I have done to become evil. As much as you hate it, you are a symbol for everyone out there who wants to believe that our world will not be ruled by darkness. Everyone expect you to at least face off with Voldemort, as do I. If I am one of those people who have expectations of you, how will I help?" These words are pouring out of my mouth, I'm trying to express my feelings, I'm trying to make him understand.  
  
I can't help him  
  
"I just want someone to listen and not judge me, any more than they already have. You know what it feels like to be in this position, where everything is expected of you, yet you can give them nothing back but disappointment. That's all I want, that's all I need. Someone to listen." I don't think I will ever get over at how intense his eyes can be, cold and yet warm, begging for understanding, yet building a wall to shield him off from others.  
  
"I'll listen."  
  
With that said, we just stand there, in perfect harmony, in perfect silence, until McGonagall steps into the classroom. The tranquility that was present has been broken, and circumstances are back to normal.  
  
Except for one thing.  
  
I feel a weight lifted off of me; I still feel like I cannot breathe when I remember everything in this world, but I have said what must be said.  
  
I know that any form of relationship with the famous Saint Potter is playing with fire, but I've always been a pyromaniac.  
  
He will speak, and I will listen. He will ask and I will answer. He will give and I will receive. We still aren't friends, but we aren't enemies. We have not spoken all of our secrets, but neither do we hide anything directly.  
  
For the rest of the night, we work in silence under the direction of McGonagall. We don't speak, but then again, we don't need to.  
  
We have spoken aloud what must be said. 


	6. Doesn't matter

*WARNING*: Slash, and if you don't know what that is by now, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Hmmmm, if I don't do a warning for the next chapter, I wonder how many flames I'll get.........  
  
A/N: I was stuck on all of my stories, including several I haven't even finished the first chapter for, so I was just asking everyone on my buddy list which story I should work on. Surprisingly, everyone said Essence, even though one of them hadn't even read my work yet and has no clue what any of it was about, lol. So, thanks to the three people I asked, here is the next chapter in Essence of Your Life. Oh, btw, looking for beta- readers. Most of my stuff is un-betaed *dodges flying objects*, I don't even read through it once I finish writing it *dodges flying blades* so that's why I'm looking for beta-readers. So, anyone interested, just email me (Kami, I'm already going to send you stuff to beta-read, I promise. I just keep on forgetting to send it, I'm in such a rush to post. And I'm just looking for more than one opinion, and I just want to get better at getting my work beta-ed before posting. *dodges last cavalcade of flying weapons*). And as if this isn't a long enough author's note, I just realized that Harry is really kind of getting OOC, so just pretend that he went through some traumatic time in some year to kind of make him this way.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Essence of Your Life: Chapter 5: Doesn't Matter  
  
Malfoy,  
  
Meet me in the room of requirements, tonight at 11  
  
I look up at him to see if he cares that I received his not. He doesn't look up. Of course, it would be so like him. So bloody used to everyone following at a snap of his fingers. What else would he do but write me a bloody note and send it by his bloody owl and expect me to jump at his bloody direction. He doesn't even care that everyone in the bloody school knows that it's his owl and that in ordering it to deliver a bloody note to me, he's virtually telling everyone in the whole bloody school that he has some bloody reason to speak to me. At least he's not bloody telling me to meet him in the bloody Astronomy Tower.  
  
"Draco, what's wrong? You seem to be rather /i this morning." Pansy's scared, everyone at the table is. It would only make sense; having to wake up after spending half the bloody night in detention under McGonagall, after having to bloody well wake up a good three hours before anyone else to finish my bloody schoolwork, having to bloody well wake up in the first place, and then bloody well getting a bloody note from bloody saint Potter.  
  
"It's nothing," I say, as I crumple the note in my hand. I usually do not lose control like this, but I really cannot stand it. Potter is saying, and I am jumping. The only thing that makes this the least bit bearable is the fact that I said I would. Unlike common belief, Malfoys follow through with their word. I refuse to break my word after having kept it so many times before, after establishing a reputation to my friends that I will always bloody keep my word.  
  
*And you're curious as to what he'll say*  
  
And I go because I have to. I never should have agreed to listen to him. Late at night, having let my guard down, I sincerely hope that was not "normal" behavior for me.  
  
*None of your behavior is really normal*  
  
Because I have to be perfect, because there are expectations of what I'll become, because there is someone I need to be, someone I have to strive into making myself.  
  
Because the haven that was my friends now turns into a nagging nest of hens, always peering into my business, asking me if I'm "all right", wondering if there's something different about me, looking at me differently if I just don't feel hungry during a meal.  
  
*That is why you are going to go meet Harry*  
  
Because he won't ask me if I'm all right, because he won't care if I don't eat, because he won't be shocked if I'm wrong, because he isn't selfless, but he isn't selfish. He doesn't care about me at all, and yet he wants me to listen to him. He doesn't even care if I get the note, he doesn't even care if I am going to be there, he just sends the summons. He leaves no possible way to respond, and believes I will be there. He doesn't even know that I know where it is.  
  
*You said you would be there, and he believes you*  
  
But why? Why does he believe I will show up? Up until yesterday, I was only supposed to be a bloody blonde ferrety git, a sneaky Slytherin, not to be trusted. Now he trusts me not to rat him out to Filch or some teacher, like I did in first year.  
  
*Either way, he believes you will go*  
  
*And you will go*  
  
I will go.  
  
I have to.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I enter the room. He's late again. But at this point, I don't care. I'm not even worried he might waltz in with teachers in tow, meaning a detention, despite Snape always trying to kiss up to me, getting me out of detentions and giving Slytherins house points.  
  
It just doesn't matter  
  
*Only he matters*  
  
Only the fact that I must keep my word, that I have to be here matters, nothing else.  
  
*That is a lie*  
  
No, what matters is that same connection, that same bond, that same feeling, that I have to tell.  
  
I have to tell him.  
  
But I don't know what to say.  
  
*What you say does not matter*  
  
But it does. How can he understand if I don't tell him? How can he possibly-  
  
"Are you always going to have your back to a door?" Potter saunters in, odd that he has so much confidence, and yet here he is, to metaphorically "spill his guts out", most likely inluding blackmail material. Yet he just strolls in, without a care, as if nothing in the world matters.  
  
*To him, nothing in the world does matter*  
  
Not even Mudblood, always forcing him to the library for books and parthment, not even Weasel, always set on one thing, never caring if it's right for Potter or not.  
  
*You matter*  
  
Only because I listen, because I can understand part of what he does. Does he understand me though?  
  
*He does*  
  
Does he care?  
  
"Well, if you're just going to stare at the wall, I supposed I'll start." Potter always has to take charge, doesn't he.  
  
He does not even care that he is pushing around someone who can easily retaliate if pushed too far.  
  
He is very stupid.  
  
*Or he has nothing to lose*  
  
But he has everything to lose. A good reputation, friends, friendship, trust, admiration, grades, everything.  
  
*Nothing that matters to him*  
  
"I want them to leave me the bloody fuck alone. They don't need to know where I am every single hour of every single day. They don't need to know exactly what I eat, how much I eat it, when I eat it. They don't need to know how long I work on my homework, what subject I happen to be working on, they don't need to know anything. They pester me, always, trying, grasping at straws to try and make sense of who I am. They ask me if I'm "all right", if I might need something, if I'm feeling sick, if perhaps I'm going to need to go see Madam Pomfrey. They worry about me too much, they're suffocating me."  
  
My heart is beating too loudly. Why? I know exactly what Harry is feeling right now, but it's not just understanding, it's beyond that, mere understanding would not cause blood to rush through my veins, exhilerating, flooding through me. What is it?  
  
*It's-*  
  
Nothing. It's nothing.  
  
"Why won't they understand that I need my space, that I need breathing room, that I have to be able to make decisions leading to choices of my own." He looks so vulnerable, so fragile like that. He looks like he can be shattered by the smallest breath of wind, broken into pieces, never to be the same, never to be like it was.  
  
"Well, that was fun. I'll see you Saturday at the Quidditch game. I'll have fun beating you." Now he's just trying to walk away, as if he hasn't just spilled his soul to me, his mask is back on, shielding everything he thinks, acting like nothing matters.  
  
"You can try to walk away, but that will not save you." I don't want him to leave, I don't want him to go.  
  
Why?  
  
*Because-*  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Why do you think I want to be saved?" His eyes, so intense, so burning, so-  
  
Untouchable.  
  
"When you are cold, lying alone in the dark, everyone so close yet so very far away, you will want to be saved." I don't even know why I'm telling him this, I said I would listen, listen only. The words are just pouring from my lips, slipping past my defenses, I don't even know why I'm speaking. Why do I want him to stay?  
  
*Because-*  
  
Nevermind.  
  
"I do not and will not ever want to be saved." He spits every word out, like he is disgusted at the very taste of the the words.  
  
"You don't care about your friends, how it must hurt them when you brush them off like they are annoying little insects?" He has to care about something, someone. If he does not, why does he live?  
  
*He lives for the same reason you do*  
  
*Because he has to*  
  
"What do you know about friends, you don't have any." This time, there is truly no doubt in my mind that he can only be disgusted by his words, by this situation, by me. Then he just leaves.  
  
I want to go after him.  
  
*You want to go after him, you want to hold him, you want to tell him everything will be alright, erase everything that went wrong, and kiss away his fears. You want to-"*  
  
Nothing.  
  
It doesn't matter what I want.  
  
It just does not matter. 


	7. Chapter 6

**_Warning_**: Slash, means guy/guy or homosexual, whatever you want to call it, relationship(s). If you don't like it, don't read it.

Disclaimer: I don't own them (though I wouldn't mind owning Draco ;-))

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Jocelyn. Happy birthday!

Enjoy!

Essence of Your Life:

They're looking at me again. They're glancing my way, whispering, gossiping, like the parasites they are. Even Ron and Hermione; I know they talk to each other, wondering what happened to me, what changed me, changed me into what I am today. I know they say that they're just "concerned" for me, that they care for me, they really do.

They don't.

I can see it in the way they look at me when they don't think I'm watching. I can tell by the way they'll stop talking when I walk into a room. I can gather the way they're always trying to convince me to tell Dumbledore or a teacher, or_ someone _whenever I get into Voldemort's head, be it accident or on purpose.

They don't even believe it when I tell them that I purposely go into Voldemort's head. Even if I B.S. something about "tactical advantages" and crap like that. They don't believe I'd ever want to go into Voldemort's head.

The fucked up thing is, I've long ago stopped popping into Voldemort's head by accident; I _want_ to get into his head, think of myself as Voldemort, have people bow to me from **fear**, being able to cast an Unforgivable, feed this **darkness** inside me.

It's like a drug, intoxicating my senses. I know it's bad for me, will probably kill many people on "my" side. But frankly?

I don't give a shit.

Because this is for **me**. I don't have to be the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-a-figurehead. I don't have people hanging off me, trying to get something from me. I know that I should be able to take all this shit, and then some, without anything to fall back on. You know what I say to that?

Bullshit.

This thing, this going into the head of my sworn enemy, the whole possessing-the-body-of-the-guy-that-killed-my-parents-and-ruined-my-life. It's insane. It's crazy. Any sane person would lock me up in a straitjacket. It's horrible. It's terrible.

It's why I'm doing it.

I want to feel their revulsion dripping off of me, the hatred rolling off them like waves, the stink of fear in the air. I want to feel it because they still have to worship me, praying that I"ll save them from Moldy Voldie.

They'll hate and adore me.

It'll fuck them up so bad.

And that's just the way I want it.

I want to scar them, mix them up so they don't know which way's up, I want to fuck them up just like they've fucked me up. Then they'll see. They'll see that I don't fucking want to be a savior. I want to be normal. Yeah, I sound like a spoiled brat. Here I am, with fame galore, and not without money either, girls falling over themselves to even look at me, and I'm just saying that I want to be normal. Yeah, I'm a brat.

And I don't fucking care.

I want to do something so shocking, so incredible. I want to show them that I'm never going to be who they want me to be. I want to smash every preconception they ever had of me into ittie bittie pieces.

Now I just need to figure out how.

"Mr. Potter! Please explain what you were doing in the other dimension inside your head." McGonagall. I used to think she was someone to be wary of, now I merely pity how she says "how high" when Dumbledore says "jump". Hn, perhaps I can use this opportunity to finally break free from my imprisoning shell.

"And why should I answer you?" That and the fact that she's getting too insolent. I've practically- no, I **have** fallen asleep during class, and now she expects me to be apologetic?

"Mr. Potter, apologize for your rudeness or you're getting a detention tonight!" Oh, puh-lease. I've been in **life or death** situations, and she thinks several hours doing meaningless chores will scare me? I've taken _months_ of menial work. If she thinks several hours will break me.... Time to show her where the power truly lies.

"If I get a detention, I might get upset. I'm already insane, right? If I'm upset and insane, who knows what will happen?" I'm laughing now. It's just so _funny_. She thinks she'll intimidate me!

"Is that a threat?" And now, to really fuck all those posers up.

"I don't know; is it? I'm insane. How should I be able to tell? Besides, aren't I the "Golden Boy-who-Lived"?! I'm not supposed to make threats. I'm not supposed to do anything but-" Damn. I lost control, and when I can least afford to. I let them see into my mind, see what I'm thinking see that what I really want is-

_Ring_

"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems the expression "saved by the bell" really does happen. Make sure this never happens again and I shall be lenient" I snort. Honestly. She's trying to save face, bluffing through the fact that I've started her, **scared** her. Even Ron and Hermione can't bluff through the fact that I have just quite unmistakenly cast myself into uncertain terratory, what with threatening a teacher.

I make my way out of the classroom. I don't have time for this.

"Hey, Potter." I grit my teeth. No, I don't have time, so of course Malfoy would have it with millenia to spare. And is that _pity_ I hear in his voice?! What, I'm no longer good enough for him to hate?!!!!!!!

"What, Ferret? Come to torment me again? You think I care?" I will not I will not IwillnotIwillnotIwillnot-

"Why did you talk back?"

I.

Will.

**NOT**

"They day I come running to you for comfort is the day I tell you my reasons for doing things." I stalk off. I don't even know why I'd think he'd care, even dream of comforting me if I ever broke down in his arms. The idea's completely ridiculous. I just can't take it. Everything's falling to pieces, and I just want to be LEFT ALONE, as I'm mentally screaming-

But as I'm walking away, Ron and Hermione flanking me, like they need to take care of me. Asking me questions, like I need to be taken care of. Just one thing stands out in my mind through the flurry and haze.

He looked shattered.


	8. Sorry

Essence of Your Life is officially discontinued. Sorry. My life's a little insane, and I just don't want the stress of a long story weighing me down. And since I'm not supposed to leave only a note, I leave with a cookie. And sorry to the people who had me on author alert, about yesterday; fanfiction dot net wasn't letting me fix the chapter, and yeah, I'm not going to go into that, just saying sorry. By the way, the cookie leaves room for an epilogue, if I ever finish this story and want to write a sequel. If I had finished this story, this probably would have been the sequel, or at least part of it. So yesh, to the cookie!

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I wasn't supposed to stray, I wasn't supposed to start a relationship, especially with Harry, I wasn't supposed to fight for him. 

But most importantly, he wasn't supposed to leave me.

I wasn't supposed to be left, broken.

He was the one holding me when everything went insane, telling me that it was all right, that it would be all right, telling me that he was there. He was the one picking the pieces up and putting me back together whenI just couldn't care anymore.

Now he's gone, and I'm left trying to hold myself together, but not knowing how to.

I just wish-

_I wish I could go back to the way things were_.


End file.
